It's times like these when I wish I had a louder voice. It would help me say a lot more, rather than just mumble incoherently to myself whenever I had something to say. You see, life has never been a walk in the park for me. Granted, nobody's life was perfect, but it's different for me because I've had it pretty shitty from the start.

My mama was a whore. At least that's what my papa told me everytime he got drunk, which was often. I had never met her. I terribly wish I had, though. She was a beautiful woman. I could tell because I had a picture of her which I kept with me everywhere I went. Her hair fell gracefully around her shoulders and her eyes must have been handpicked by God himself. They were a deep sapphire, and I saw myself through them everytime I looked at the ratty, old photo.

Growing up with a single dad who found every answer he needed at the bottom of a bottle contributed to my social anxiety. My daily routine consisted of going to school and locking myself in my room. Now that it was winter, I had an excuse to stay in bed all day and shut out the world that was never open to begin with.

I have never seen snow before. It was scarce in South Africa. Winter there is kind if a sordid affair. It rained a lot and the sky was painted in dark greys and blues. But I loved it, because Winter reminded me of myself: Cold and unwanted.

A knock sounded on my door and I immediately knew it was my drunken father coming to spew his bullshit in my ear all evening. At least he had the courtesy to knock.

"Come in." I mutter.

He stumbled into my room as if he didn't realise how pathetic he was. I hated how much I looked like him. Same dark hair and dark blue eyes. It was a constant reminder that we shared the same DNA.

"Andrea, my darling daughter." He slurred. The whiskey in his breath filter through my room and I opened a window to let the winter air come in and save my lungs.

"Do you know why your mother left you and I?" He asked me for the millionth time.

I decided to bite. "No, daddy. But I'm sure you'll tell me."

"She left us for another man!" He boomed. The way he said 'us' as if we were a package deal made me angry. But I remained silent. It was better he preached than start throwing things across the room.

"We weren't good enough for her. She found a young man and decided to screw him and leave us." He paced across my room as he ranted.

I watched him, weary. I was sick of it, sick of it all. I felt suffocated everyday because I had come to the painful realisation that my dad was the the better parent, and that in it self said a lot.

"Are we that bad, baby girl?" He whispered. "Are we so horrible that she would just take off and leave us?" He slumped to the floor. "Are we that dirty?"

I didn't answer him. I was trying to keep the bile out of my throat and the tears out of my eyes. "I think we are, daddy. I think we're f**king mess." I said after a long while.

He nodded as tears streamed down his face, getting caught in wrinkles that didn't come with age, but with constant emotional stress.

The rain hit hard against my window pane while my father cried wordlessly in a corner of my room as I tried to breath properly.

Then I had an epiphany. A cure for the insanity we were slowly falling into. I grabbed his hand and pulled him outside into the pouring rain. The water fell like my own personal miracle all over me. I fell knees first into the ground of my front yard as I let the water wash away everything I though was wrong with life.

My dad mirrored my images. I could tell the rain had a similar effect on him. I soaked it all in. I forgave my mother, I forgave my dad. I forgave myself. I could finally breath again.

"I'm going to get sober, Andrea." My Dad promised me as the rain cleared up. "We're going to be a family again."

I nodded with him. "We're clean, daddy. We are finally clean."

And we stayed there for a while, outside on the winter day that saved me in more ways than I could imagine.